


Lumina

by ethrosdemon, inkandchocolate



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethrosdemon/pseuds/ethrosdemon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandchocolate/pseuds/inkandchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark thinks, Lex thinks, they don't think the same things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shine

Clark notices things, eye ever-tuned to the station of normal so he can make sure he fits in the boundaries. Habit, self-protection, call it what you will, he's been doing it since he was 8, and his freak-dar is a finely oiled machine. One side effect is that he notices nuances within the broadband spectrum of normalcy, and if Smallville High ever taught a class in Human Behavior - the REAL stuff - he'd have an "A" without cracking a book.

Lately, the last few months or so, he's picking up on a disturbing trend. He's getting these vibes, these very strong, intensely strange vibes from some people he's known his whole life. They make him feel -- well, uncomfortable is putting a nice coat of paint on it, but that'll do for the sake of his own internal consideration. And it's not as if he's dense. He knows what it's like, he's sensitive to the way people act, the way they look and stand and even talk when they want someone to be closer to them. The way Chloe is with him, the way Pete is with Chloe. The way he is with Lana, despite all his best attempts to be less obvious. It's different with them, though. There's not the single thread of sex in those feelings, although it's there for sure. It's more like a skein of wool, something his mom wouldn't ever buy because she'd call it tacky, something bright and shot through with metallic pieces. The wool, that's all the feelings that go with the liking of someone. The glitter, that's the sex.

Clark trudges past the flower shop with his head down, avoiding looking in, just in case. Because Lana's aunt Nell bleeps loudly. She's got the vibe big time whenever he's around, it's in the way she smiles at him, leans on the counter, laughs just a bit too loud. The way she touches her hair all the time, and he tries his best to not be near his mom when she decides she needs tulips or freesia or whatever might take her into the shop. Not the least of his discomfort comes from the fact that she does the same thing to his dad; Clark's seen her do it.

And she's not the only one, there's Miss Gambol, the English teacher, who made sure to stand near his desk when she lectured or read poetry. Who always had a smile for him or a quietly whispered, "That's such insightful work, Clark," even though they both knew he was never going to be a poet. Pete used to rag on him for getting better grades, and Clark will not let himself think that maybe he got those A's and B+'s because she likes the way he wears his jeans.

There're other hotspots in town, places he refuses to go into alone, like the bakery where Mrs. Penniwise always wants to give him a cookie, and he's pretty damn sure she's offering a whole helluva lot more. Most freaksome, however, was the class trip to the Smallville Firehouse and getting that same smile, that same silvery-bright vibe, from Fireman Henry. He clapped Clark on the shoulder and shook his hand just a trifle too long, told him he was growing into a fine young man. Freaksome because Mr. Henry, Mike, wasn't much older than Clark himself, 20 or so. He'd worked on the farm a few summers ago, so it was like they were friends, acquaintances. Until Mike pulled that "fine young man" line and made Clark feel just... slimy.

That was what it was, mostly, the wrongness of the vibe he was getting from them. The older ladies with their special smiles and long, cool fingers that seemed determined to touch the back of his hand, the cuff of his shirt. Married ladies, and his dad knew their husbands, and so did Clark for that matter. //All glitter, no wool// he thinks, dropping back into his own example, and that's what's so worrying about it. That, and the way he thinks about Lana's aunt on the rotation of fantasies when he jerks off in the shower, the way her cleavage just wants to roll out of those sweaters when she leans over and flips her hair. There's nothing but the shine, and he knows it should be more.

So deep in these ruminations, Clark doesn't even realize that Lex is pulling to a stop beside him until the tinted window on his Porsche rolls down, and he hears Lex call out to him.

"Clark, hey, wanna ride home?"

And maybe it's just because he's fixated on the sex vibe, could be that, sure, but it seems that Lex is very bright, very shiny in his car, the way he's leaning forward to peer through the window, the slickness of his smile in the dim car interior. He's glittering, and instead of the shudder of repulsion that follows those thoughts lately, Clark instead feels a pull in his stomach that is not entirely unpleasant.

He smiles, feels the heat flare in his cheeks and forces himself to stand still. "Uh, no, thanks, though. I'm cool to walk."

"You sure? It's not more out of my way than any other place in the county." Lex's smile never falters, although Clark knows that he's adding the refusal in with every other Smallville snub, just another sample of what being a Luthor will get you in these parts.

"No, really, I like walking. See ya 'round, Lex." Small wave of his hand and Clark starts walking again, because it's either walk away or stand there and play the word games he's so bad at, try to make the decline of the offer something less than Lex thinks it is. He waits until the car pulls past him, sees Lex toss him a wave out the window. As soon as it rounds the curve, Clark hits a field and runs.

============

Lex depresses the window button on the console and relaxes into his seat. It takes him about fifteen seconds to decide following Clark's progress along the sidewalk would be anything but smooth, shifts into first and almost peels out towards home. One of the few stoplights in town brings him up short, causing people in a two-block radius to crane their necks and start whispering at his newest antics. Off again, he dials the radio up loud enough to rattle the windows of a lesser-made vehicle and counts backwards from fifty to balance his mind.

If he thought Clark could formulate complex thought, he would pin avoidance on him. Another blow off, blushes and down-turned eyes, pent up and frustrated, Lex has seen that kind of confusion before, and pegs it for the serious trap it would be to get snared in. Clark's never anything but polite about it, but the move for distance is there. Apparently getting in Lex's car on Main Street in broad daylight is taboo, but who in Smallville knows what rough trade is? He follows those thoughts to more realistic scenario: Big Kent told him not to take any rides, something close to a gift, a favor, and Clark sees one like to another, just different sized offerings. Wouldn't be so brazen as to dispute his father's word in public, little boy still not ready to face down daddy. And Lex discovers resonance with Clark is odd.

Lex rounds the bend into the last stretch of road before his property. His father's property, really. Fathers and sons, the human condition, but Lex doesn't see much other similarity between he and Clark. And there's a burn there, a strange tickle. He's not sure he wants Clark to be anything like him, if he really wants familiarity, but the innocence is so compelling in its luster to be dimmed. Given time, Clark could become...what? That's the question. Bad would never settle on him, but tarnished? Grey around the edges? And he could be that now, and Lex just can't reach those places, doesn't know where to look for dirty secrets in someone who lives lips to ear with every person in town, well schooled in how to keep things hidden. There are no pay-offs for soiled reputations when there's nothing to talk about but who fucked whom and the price of grain.

He leaves the car in the drive. It's a lazy habit he's picked up living out here where theft is unheard of, and his auto policy covers 'acts of god', he checked that one out. Up the steps, and his thoughts veer to why Clark splits from the Beanery within fifteen minutes whenever Lex appears, the way he can't hold a conversation for more than three sentences, how he makes deliveries to the kitchen and doesn't stop by Lex's office anymore.

He senses the hovering presence of the help in the shadows just beyond the door.

"Christoph, if Clark Kent comes by, would you make sure you have him shown in to me in my office, or wherever I am?"

"Certainly, Mr. Luthor. Anything else?"

Lex doesn't answer, doesn't let the small exchange bring him far out of the compulsive thoughts he's savouring. Clark's issue could be guilt. He's too twisted up in apron strings and weighted down with his father's anger to be anything to Lex. To be friends. And if not friends, not anything else either. Small town boys don't normally get the whole sex for sex's sake, not ones like Clark, and could Lex even explain the finer points of just fucking to Clark? It would be worth the eternity in hell for a try. Simple, straightforward, just what these people love, shooting from the hip. Spin as a way of life, because it's not just about those long lashes framing the bluest eye or a remembered curve of a perfect hipbone, it's the intangible shift and blur under the surface of Clark Kent, obvious boy.

There have been other Clarks, pretty faces masking *something * that Lex needed to uncover. It always starts like this, as a drive to get to the mystery of who and what's hidden, but how many has it been now whose centers were just the same old bundle of insecurities and plain, boring human frailty? Not surprisingly, he truly believes this time is different, and the junkie lingo isn't lost on him.

============

Clark is a little rattled when the uptight and very proper man he's dubbed "the Butler" is waiting in the kitchen when he makes his delivery. Still not sure how his mom is getting around his dad when it comes to selling their produce to Lex, he just blinks at the man when he speaks.

"Mr. Luthor asked that you be shown into his office."

Figuring there has to be some mistake, he tries to clarify his status, maybe throw in a little Jedi mind trick with it, because the way things have been going for him lately, he can't be *sure* it won't work. "I'm just making a delivery."

Barely repressed sigh, and then "Yes, as I see. Mr Luthor was quite clear in this."

So much for the power to control men's minds. Clark shrugs. "Uh, ok then."

He follows the Butler through the house, past closed doors that gleam with oil and polish, over rugs that cost more than his family's farm will ever see in its entire existence. Finally the man stops, raps on the door to Lex's office and then opens it, stepping back to let Clark enter first. Clark shoves his hands in his pockets up to the wrists and steps tentatively inside.

Lex stands leaning against the front of his desk, his own posture the antithesis of Clark's tortured and tense stance. He's smiling, always smiling at Clark, and his voice is warm when he says, "Clark. More apples? I think I might need to start making applesauce. Do you know how to can?"

Taken aback at this tactic, Clark blinks for a second, goes with the conversational flow, the whole time thinking about silver-shot threads, and trying desperately to ignore the thrumming that seems to have taken up residence in the lower half of his body. "Yeah, I guess. I've seen my mom do it enough."

Lex nods, half-serious as always. "Think you could show me sometime?"

He can't hold back a grin at that, blushes at the way he's been acting, tugs his hands from his pockets and looks down at the floor before answering. "You're kidding, right? I think you can afford to buy the kind from the store in bulk."

"I keep hearing it doesn't taste the same as homemade, maybe I should find out for myself." Lex moves now, same casual grace about him, walking towards the little refrigerator at the side of his desk. Clark can hear the hum as the cooler element kicks over.

"If you say so, but maybe you could just buy some off Mrs. Bruce at the farmer's market." Watches Lex tilt his head, like he's hearing something off in the distance. Clark feels the emptiness of the house all of a sudden. Huge castle, fortress, it might as well be just him and Lex, and why does that thought bring back the heaviness in his gut, between his legs? He thinks that leaving is a very good idea.

"I'll remember that. Why don't you sit down?" Lex appears to be oblivious, but Clark really doubts that's the case. He pauses in the languid stroll and fixes Clark with a look.

Hands jammed back in his pockets, cheeks hot and red, Clark watches the floor. "I was just dropping this stuff off, really, I have a lot of homework."

"Clark, you're making me think you don't like to be around me anymore."

He doesn't look up, even though the tone of Lex's voice makes him want to say he's sorry, makes him feel guilty and adds more confusion to the massive snowy screen that is his normal-behavior radar right now. "Yeah, I know."

"Why don't you stay a while, tell me about it? Here, how about we have a beer and you can tell me what outfit Lana had on today." Thunk of the fridge door opening, jangle of glass on glass and Clark does look up now. Lex holds out a bottle towards him, so cold that there's already condensation on it from the heat of his hand, the room. Another sits on Lex's desk in front of him.

Immediately, instinctively, he shakes his head. Not just because he doesn't want to stay, but because something tells him that even the slightest softening of the lines he's drawn here would be a Very Bad Thing. "Um, I don't think I should. I don't drink, and I need to go."

And the look on Lex's face is less and less something Clark wants to be held accountable for. He looks... amused. As if this is a great play for his own entertainment, and he already knows where the ending comes in. "Clark, what's wrong? It's just a beer."

Easier this time to refuse, temper that's never given a free reign beginning to stir for some reason that he can't fathom. Frustration with Lex, and with himself giving him bizarre feelings that he channels into anger. "Really, I don't drink. Even a beer."

"A beer's not going to kill you. You can sit down if you want." Lex gestures to the massive, leather couch against the far wall.

"No, really, I need to go." He thinks he might go insane, right here, right now, his skin tingling and this welling sense of *something* big filling him up, like he's suspended in that moment when your feet leave the highdive, and you know you're going to fall. The thrill in your belly, the weakness in your legs, the desire to scream. He feels like he's been hung in that moment, and Lex will keep him there forever, arguing a 'yes' to every 'no' Clark offers him.

"You can't stay for five minutes?" Not the only one with a temper, he sees Lex letting his tightly held composure slip slightly. The threads in Clark's belly tug at him again.

"No, mom's expecting me, really." Accentuates it with a step towards the closed office door, stops at the sound of the second beer bottle hitting the desktop, watches the droplets slip down the brown glass and puddle on expensive veneer. Anything other than Lex's eyes.

"What's going on? Is this because of your dad?" Coming back around the desk this time, posture forced back into the casual leaning stance but his face isn't soft or open any longer, and Clark suspects those hands in his pockets are itching to be made into fists.

"My dad? No, Lex, it's not about that. It's just that I have to go, and I don't drink. I'm underage." Hates himself for saying that, sounds like he's even more of a freak than previously, but it's the truth, he's too wired to lie right now, his brain is on a single track with one destination: getting him out of there as soon as possible.

"Oh, and you don't do anything illegal, right? Or even a little wrong? Clark have you ever even lied?" Snort of disdainful laughter, the hands that Clark imagined tensed in anger now smoothly press into the expensive linen over Lex's thighs. He looks just as relaxed as he did when Clark first came in, but there's some odd texture to his voice. He's not relaxed, he's just comfortable in his anger.

"Of course I have, don't be mad. It's not personal..." Automatic attempt to soothe him, because Clark does like Lex, maybe like in the way he shouldn't too. He feels for him, being who he is in this town, believes that Lex's offers and gifts are made in a genuine bid for friendship. Lex just doesn't get the mechanics of friend, not servant, employee or lackey, and that is the worst part in Clark's mind, the not even knowing what a friend is. Goes against Clark's grain to hurt someone, and somehow he thinks that he's doing just that, hurting Lex. And Lex is responding in kind, deliberately.

"Because nothing's personal with us. You can play the hero all day, but any time I try to make nice with you, you suddenly remember my last name. Is that it?"

"What? Lex, no. Like I said, I want to be friends with you, but..."

//But, but, there's this vibe between us and it's freaking me out, because it should be wrong. Should be wrong but when I hit the shower last time it wasn't Lana's aunt, it wasn't Miss Gambol, it was you, and I don't feel bad about it, I don't feel-// Thoughts click off abruptly when he sees Lex come towards him, sauntering, rolling heel to toe, voice sharp though, and Clark has discovered tonight that the voice is the key.

"But then people might talk about you, and say it's wrong, and you couldn't ever do anything against the grain or wrong, could you?" Clark notices nothing moves on Lex's face but his lips, wonders if that hurts the muscles to stay so rigid. He's so weirded out and hyped up from Lex's strange behavior that he can't piece together what's happening here, why this conversation is happening this way.

Final desperate bid to stop this landslide before there was any more damage. "Lex, I thought we were friends, why are you saying this stuff?"

"We're not friends Clark. I thought we could be, but there's nothing there under the surface, is there? All you are is gleaming purity through and through, thoughts planted in your head by parents and teachers and the preacher, and not one of your own, is there?" Lex right in front of him now, shorter, but somehow he makes Clark feel like he's looming over him. His eyes are liquid bright, and he shows all his teeth as he smiles. "I've never seen someone with so little rebellion in them in my life."

That's it, even Clark has his limits, and being made to feel like even more of a shit than he already does is the last straw. Words out of his mouth without any censoring, completely bypassing the long established screen for acceptability. "Fuck off, you don't know anything about me."

Lex clucks his tongue. "Naughty language, Clark, better lower your voice before someone hears you." Smile still in place on his lips, eyes still cold.

Clark never looks back once he turns and nearly tears the door off the hinges in his haste to leave. He slams through the front door, not bothering to shut it behind him. Lex's black Porsche sits in the driveway, waiting for him, perfect and spotless and infuriatingly //shiny// representative of everything Clark hates right now. He stalks by, lets his hand drift out and catch on the side mirror, clutches it and continues towards the truck. The crunching sound of fiberglass breaking and glass shattering is satisfying, as is the earthy 'thunk' the demolished object makes when it hits the ground several yards away in what Clark assumes are the formal gardens.

His face still burns when he starts the truck and drives off, his heart thudding against his chest, the thickness pressed against his belly thrilling him and making him queasy at the same time.

=====

Lex watches Clark storm out of his office, hears the odd, high-pitched screech of steel stretching slightly when the hinges couldn't take the stress of the power behind the slam open. Runs his steady hands over his face and wonders how he let this situation get so far past him. His own stupidity, again, and he was two heartbeats away from just taking what he wanted from Clark when the boy forced his dormant temper out of control.

He doesn't sigh, doesn't flinch, decides he's probably held himself in check, waiting, coaxing, falling heels over ears in the head long tumble into curiosity long enough. Clark is who he is, very young, very one dimensional, and Lex needs spice to offset his failure here. Failure at what, he's not so sure, but the bitter taste of defeat floods his mouth, and he's spent his whole life avoiding this drop.

"Christoph, I won't be back tonight." His steps through the hall are rapid; he needs to be as far away from this wasteland as possible, a warm body, maybe multiple bodies, pills or lines or just enough alcohol to make him forget Clark's eyes moving from pleading to hurt to furious.

On the bottom step of the outside landing, he wishes he'd picked up a jacket, the night air bites into skin flushed from anger and some flavor he doesn't want to name, regret, guilt, things Luthors don't indulge. He can smell the sweetness in the air from the hay bales still lingering in the fields and imagines it's close to how Clark would smell under sweat and fabric softener. So distracted with that last thought he doesn't notice the vandalism to his car until he pulls the keys out of his pocket.

Lex stands three feet to the side of his newest toy, and he wonders how the local ruffians got on the property, wonders why this is all they did, searches the ground for what's left of the mirror, finds nothing but broken glass and gravel flipped up onto the asphalt. Gravel Clark left when he hit the gas with all his pent up fury and drove right the hell on out of there, after, of course, showing Lex that he could be a bad boy after all. Lex pockets his keys and lets out a genuine, gut-clenching laugh.

end


	2. Neon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make up.

Clark's come to a place between last night and now where he thinks that his life has taken a new path. Unmoored, even though he doesn't know all that much about boats, that word seems somehow right. Super-speed, scary eye-abilities, figuring out the meteor rock thing, all those seriously weird aspects of his life kind of hit him at once, and he didn't examine them too closely for fear of finding more than he already has. But Lex kind of makes him think too hard. Makes him puzzle over what words mean and what they could mean. Last night he felt like he was in a movie, like his life was a movie, the kind where people talk and what they say to each other is not all just what the words plainly mean. He feels oddly out of himself, and he doesn't know how to get back in on what's going on.

Clark takes the long, slow way to Lex's house. It's getting late, the light's that strange orange-pink that signals sundown is close, but Clark is too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice much of anything. He really intended to stay mad. To be righteous and stomp around the loft until Lex came to him, explained what was going on. But he can't escape his nature, even when he's not exactly sure it's him at all. Habit is comfortable, though. And guilt is very much his habit. He has just enough attention trained on his path so that he doesn't walk past the turn-off to the Luthor mansion. The rest of his mind hums with a symphony of self-flagellation centering on two things -- how he lost his control for the first time in he doesn't know how many years, and how *good* it had felt. He pins his movie-life as more of an after school special, him as the lead: he knows what he did was wrong and why and that he has to live with the consequences. But he feels chills at how sweet the freedom to be mad for once and just give in to emotion felt. When he got home last night, he had to go out to his loft for an hour to get himself under control. Absolutely no way he could face his mom in the state he had worked himself up to and even less chance of explaining to her why he was strung out and a walking hormone.

He kicks up puffs of dust in the cool air, wonders if he will ever get things back on track with Lex, and 'what back on track' means. As if on cue, he sees he's arrived at the turn, lets his feet carry him at a slightly less leisurely pace towards the circular driveway and the huge dark doorway at the height of the arc there. He's hoping that Lex's anger dissipated as quickly as his own had, although he harbors doubts about it. After the slip up last night, he's thinking he has some explaining to do and wonders if he can figure out the words to use this time, keep it friendly. Not bring out that angry buzzing undertone in Lex's voice again. Clark knows about apologizing, sometimes he considers it one of his gifts, like the super eye-beams. He will give Lex his most pathetic look and hope that he caves like just about anyone who isn't his dad.

The door opens so soon after Clark's first knock that he gets the feeling he was expected. Maybe the Butler stands around waiting for someone to knock when he isn't busy fetching things for Lex. At any rate, he's there and looking at Clark with that slightly bored, completely professional expression on his face.

"Hey, is Lex at home?" Wishes there was something less "come out and play" he could have come up with to say, considering this is a butler, not Lex's mom or dad at the door, but figures the hell with it. He can tell the Butler isn't exactly thrilled with this portion of his job description.

"Mr. Luthor said to show you in when you arrived." Graceful step back into the hall, and he waits for Clark to enter.

Clark, however, is momentarily surprised. "What? He...ok, right." Steps through the doorway, follows the man to Lex's office and makes a conscious effort to not shuffle his feet while he waits to be announced. Less an announcement than a knock on the door and a low, hushed murmuring, and then he's being shown in. The door clicks closed behind him.

Lex sits at his desk doing paperwork, and he looks right up as Clark walks towards him, easy smile on his face, absolutely no surprise to be found there. "Clark, how have you been?" Voice calm and warm, not a trace of anger or sarcasm. Completely not what Clark was expecting, but he should know by now that Lex is flux personified, that every time they are in each other's company, he says or does something that makes Clark reassess the man and the friendship.

He shrugs his shoulders a little, hands in his jacket pockets. "OK, I guess. I just wanted to stop by, say I'm sorry." The atonement face appears.

"You don't have to do that." Vague wave of his hand and Lex is smiling again. He's practically oozing good-natured charm, and Clark is fascinated by the difference twenty fours hours and several hundred dollars of damage to his car seems to have made.

"It was wrong, I shouldn't have lost my temper like that." Feels his cheeks flush, looks down at his shoes before forcing his eyes back up to Lex's. Still the same expression there, Lex as calm as he's ever seen him. And Clark decides this is way too easy. He messed up in a major way last night, and Lex doesn't appear to care whatsoever.

Lex takes a few seconds to speak again. "With a baseball bat?"

Momentarily startled, Clark has to figure what a bat has to do with anything they're talking about. His words stumble until he gets that line of thought. "Uh...yeah, I keep one in the bed of the truck in case there's another scarecrow kinda thing."

Lex stands, saunters around the desk and gestures to the couch. Sits without waiting for Clark to say yes or no, shows no reaction when Clark joins him, perching at the other end of the deep brown leather bench. Lex leans back into the cushions, arm across the back of the couch. "Right. It's fine. I won't be suing you for the damages."

"Did you want me to pay you for the bodywork? I could rob a bank, although they have all kinds of new security now." Little jibe at Lex's expense but a harmless one, makes them both smile for the moment.

"It's ok, Clark. My insurance covered it. Did you just stop by to offer to commit grand larceny?" Lex looks very interested in the answer, and although his posture doesn't change, Clark feels a flutter, light and shivery in his belly. *Is* that the only reason he stopped by?

"No, I feel, well, like crap after the last time I was here. I just wanted to say I was sorry." Sits back suddenly and lets out a deep breath, glances sideways at Lex and finds himself turning that way just a bit, mirroring his posture.

Lex nods. "Apology accepted. I won't offer you a beer. How about a cider?" Not moving until he gets an answer, leaving the whole thing to Clark, no full court press like last time.

One eyebrow, sleek and black, raises just enough to be noticeable. "Hard cider?"

Lex shrugs. "Maybe."

"I've had it before. It's ok. It's like apple juice with a kick." Clark sees taking the drink as another show that he's trying to make up. Lex's being so easy-going, he thinks he has to try harder.

Lex does move now, gets up and walks to the sideboard. "I'll take that as a yes."

Clark watches the shirt move across Lex's back as he pours the drink, dark blue bunching and straightening as he moves, doesn't look away when Lex turns and hands him the crystal glass. Before he takes even the first sip, Clark says, "Lex, have you ever been to the Fair?" The words pop out of his mouth as the thought forms, eager to show Lex what friends do, hanging out and just being together. But he doesn't remember all the muscles in his back tensing up like this when he asked Chloe to go to the movies or come over for pizza.

In the process of sitting, no drink for himself, Lex grins, says, "*The * Fair? I don't think I have." Settles back into the comfortable couch and crosses his legs, ankle resting on opposite knee.

Clark sips the cider, lets it heat his throat and looks at Lex over the top of the glass "Would you like to go? With me? I was gonna go after I left here." Eyes down again right away, willing to ask but not willing to watch whatever expression might fly across Lex's face before he can control it. He doesn't think that happens to Lex much, uncontrolled expressions of any kind not exactly a weakness he's seen Lex exhibit, unlike himself.

When he feels the couch shift and looks up, Lex is leaning forward, arms casually resting on his bent leg. There's an expression of deep and serious interest on his face. "Will there be more apple products and a Corn Queen?"

Wide grin from Clark. "Apple products for sure, but I think they did away with the Corn Queen after women's lib."

"In that case, I don't see how I can refuse. Sure. Drink your cider while I go upstairs and get my coat." And Clark is very scared now. The weird distance thing comes back full force, and he takes a huge gulp of his drink.

"K." Clark contemplates his achievements so far for the evening - apology made and accepted, offer to pay made and refused, //thank god, i think i might be 60 before i make enough to pay that off//, drink in hand and Lex coming out of this place with him. Good start to showing him how friends can get along without either one of them buying anything more impressive than a hotdog and possibly the price of a game or two on the fairway.

Clark downs his cider while Lex takes care of business, and the warmth that spreads to his extremities isn't entirely based on the alcohol content.

**

Lex doesn't really need to get his own jacket. A slight lift of his voice would bring Christoph slithering into the room to do any mindless errand Lex would demand. But, Lex does need the space, the couple minutes to himself the excuse of the coat brings him. Takes the stairs casually, one after the other, trying to get his heart-rate under control. Clark showed up on cue to a pretty detailed fantasy in which he starred. He even had on the same sweater. Something about the bleeding of unreal into real put Lex at a serious disadvantage. He had worked up quite a few scenarios in which he raked Clark over the coals, made him feel like utter shit, made him beg, made him cry. However, within ten seconds of walking in the room, Lex was trying to figure out how he'd get Clark to stay five minutes more.

Jacket retrieved, his mind flicks over close-up frames of Clark, eyebrow then blushed cheek then upper lip, when he realizes where he's agreed to go. He's about to let out a sigh when Clark comes into his line of sight. Standing at the foot of the staircase, Clark rolls on the balls of his feet with one hand raking through his hair. His face ruddy, his eyes bright, the boy is wired and off center. Lex decides the Fair might be far more interesting than he'd ever imagined.

"You ready?" He slides his leather jacket on and waves towards the door.

"Totally." That makes two of them then.

**

The Harvest Fair turns out to be almost exactly as Lex pictured it, right down to the straw covered mud they are calling a parking lot. He lets Clark lead the way, around the 4H club pens with prize pigs and demonic looking goats, down to the fairway that bustles with the good folk of Smallville. The air smells like WD-40 from the rides and frying oil from the food stalls, a mixture that causes Lex's stomach to clench until he gets used to it. He allows Clark to shell out the price of a few games, not the least bit surprised when he wins them handily. Doesn't bother to conceal his amusement at the sight of Clark weighted down with cheap stuffed bears and pennants for the Metropolis Sharks. They talk a little, Clark surprising him now and then with some sharpness to his own wit. Delightful, really, to see him relaxing enough to stop blushing with every statement he makes. If he wasn't so anxious to get him into the makeshift alleys between the gaming trailers and do things to that body that would make him blush for a month, Lex would say he was utterly charmed. He doesn't delve too deeply into how easy it is to be here in the moment with Clark enjoying himself during activities he normally disdains.

"I need something to eat, you want a hotdog? Fries? Anything?" Clark peers around the bear he won at the last booth, and Lex supresses a shudder. Fairground hotdogs and ptomaine go hand in hand as far as he's concerned, and he guides Clark towards something less likely to leave him puking in the car later.

"Let's indulge the sweet tooth instead." He nods towards the trailer selling candied apples, shaved ices and cotton candy, sees Clark shrug agreeably and follow behind. Brief argument about Lex actually spending the whole five dollars for a caramel apple and a sticky mass of pink spun sugar that Clark manages to lose without too much bad grace. Lex watches as Clark rids himself of bears and pennants by stopping a harassed looking mother with three small children and delivering the whole package deal to her kids, who whoop and squeal with delight, dragging her off before she can do more than say a hurried thank you.

Lex plucks a bit of the pink fluff with his fingers and lets it dissolve on his tongue while he watches Clark. They're walking towards the rides, conversation secondary to eating for the moment, and it gives Lex time to indulge a thought or two. Watches Clark lick his fingers clean before tossing the stick into a trash barrel, wonders if the boy is as completely unaware of himself as he appears to be tonight. He remember fifteen well, and he doesn't think he spent ten minutes of it this pleased with nothing more than bright lights and ambling. Lex gladly dumps the remainder of his cotton candy in a barrel uneaten, runs his tongue over his teeth and feels the grit of undissolved sugar.

"You're not bored, are you?" Clark turns to him and walks backwards a few steps until Lex catches up. "I mean, I guess that this might be a little... small town for you."

"No, boredom isn't an issue here. I'm curious though why you aren't here with your other friends." Curious about how Clark would taste mingled with pink sugar, what kind of sounds his outrage would take to be sampled right here in full sight of God and everyone who's interested.

"Oh. Well, we'll probably come another night together, I just thought tonight, you and me without the whole twenty question routine from Chloe would be..." His voice trails off and there's that blush again, reliable as the sunrise.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Clark." Lex hides a grin, one he is sure would set off every warning bell in a 500 foot radius if he let it out fully.

"Not really. Chloe has the paper dead-line and Pete's 'helping'." Clark's mouth twists into a half smile, and Lex digs down deep to remember that just last night, he'd given up on this one.

"Ah, so it was either drag me or else ask your mom." Delivery deadpan, but Clark reads the humor there easily.

His smile folds, his face becomes all somber lines. "You found me out. It was either you or the eternal shame of riding the Ferris wheel with my mom."

Lex suddenly doesn't think this situation is all that hilarious anymore. "I'm not getting on that death trap."

"Lex, you drive your car at 120 miles an hour and now you're afraid of a fair ride?" Clark's hand clutches at Lex's elbow, and the touch would normally cause him to gloat, but it harbors his doom, so Lex tries to shake it off.

"Have you seen a carney up close, Clark? Do you want to entrust your continued existence to someone who may or may not be able to read the safety instructions for the ride?" But all Lex gets for his trouble is a smirk, and all too soon they are entrenched in the line for the Ferris Wheel.

"Come on, Lex. It'll be fun. The carriage will shake and swing, and just when you're sure it's gonna pop its bolts and plummet to earth, you're at the top and you can see for miles." His hand drops from Lex's elbow and jams into his jacket. Neon glares from the rides down the midway, and Lex can't get a real read on Clark's expression. And that's almost too perfect.

"You're not selling me here." Which is an utter lie. He'd ride the asinine, swinging pirate ride if Clark asked him to, and he knows it, but it's part of the game, so it doesn't seem like much of a weakness to him.

"Then how about we make it a pride thing? I dare you to get on." Clark's all teeth now, and in the eerie mid-way brightness, he looks almost predatory. Lex figures that's projection, but he takes almost an entire minute to respond. In that time, Clark doesn't dim the smile, and gets an eyebrow arched halfway through the silence.

"You're on." But they're moving anyway, no escape could have been made without considerable loss of face. Herd of humanity shuffling two by two into creaking, swinging baskets. Clark hops in first, as the seedy character running the ride holds the carriage steady. Lex keeps his eyes on Clark and only gets a vague impression of denim and a mullet from the carney.

The safety bar snaps in place as soon as Lex sits down, and he braces himself. The ride shifts forward so the next set of exuberant Smallvillians can clamor aboard.

"I should have finished my paperwork." Lex leans back against the smooth, steel seat and clenches his jaw.

Clark grins at Lex's tight clutching of the safety bar every time they stop. The basket does have a wild sway to it, groan of metal probably slightly more frightening than he's giving it credit for. But the weightlessness as they finally begin the ride in earnest and the wheel spins faster is something he would risk death for. Flying, floating, that's what this is like, almost as good as the dreams, definitely better than being pressed against the ceiling. And he doesn't have to hide it, not the sensation of soaring, not the absolute joy he feels in it. He whips his head over at Lex, smile stretched across his face as the wind blows his hair back, and for once he doesn't mind the thumping jolt in the pit of his belly; later, in the dark at home, he can blame it on the ride. This second, he's blissed out, and the feeling of Lex's body slipping over against his when the wheel halts is far too comfortable for him to move away. Allows himself to break his self-imposed rules where those threads of want are concerned, just for now, for the three minutes this ride will last. Feels the warmth of Lex's body where their thighs press together through denim and the fine woven material of Lex's pants. Smells the sharp and distinct odor, juniper and citrus, of Lex's cologne and leather from his jacket when the ride moves again, another spin, and the wind carries it all to him.

"I can see the appeal," Lex says, shouting a little to be heard.

"You can?" Knows he not the most subtle of people and that Lex is sharper than anyone he's ever met, and he's pretty sure he's not ready for all of his precious, only-his thoughts to be exposed at the Harvest Fair. Holds his breath as Lex nods and turns to him, smiling as they make another circuit.

"The vertigo, it's like free fall. Completely addictive. I'd love to take you skydiving sometime, Clark. There's nothing like the rush you get when you leap from the plane and it's just you and the wind." So close, the muscles in Lex's leg tight against his own as he tries to keep himself from rocking and skittering around the compartment. Animation to his features like someone in a play, all over done and bold movements in case he can't be heard, projecting pleasure. Lex's expression holds Clark's attention as he tries to identify what it is that's so different besides the over-pronounced words. Then Lex grins, and Clark gets it. Hits him that this is the first time he's seen Lex look genuinely happy. Not off the chart and over into hysterical, but relaxed and smiling and just. Happy.

Adds to Clark's feelings of joy, and this time when the wheel stops they're swinging wildly at the very top. Lex slides the rest of the way over in the seat from the force of the sway, shoulder up against Clark's, face bare inches away, and he's grinning as he rights himself. Clark's chest burns, and he realizes he's holding his breath again, fingers digging into the side of the basket, the metal warping under the pressure of his grip. He's light headed, dizzy and half hard, aching for something he can't or won't put a label on. The *want* is terrifying, worse than any new power he might wake up with on any given day, something unexpected and overwhelming.

Face hot and muscles across his back and thighs tight, Clark has never been so relieved to get off the Ferris wheel in his life. He lets Lex get out first, takes the opportunity to tug his jacket down over his hips, jams his hands in his pockets as he follows Lex through the turnstile at the exit gate.

"What's next on the agenda?" Lex appears relaxed and wears that smile, the one that is apparently connected to the lust control portion of Clark's brain, because his stomach feels like fish are leaping around in it, and there's another rush of blood between his legs. He jerks his jacket down harder, almost hunching over as they walk.

"Actually, I think I have some homework I need to be doing." Lame, stupid, pathetic even to his ears but he can't let anyone see him like this, and proximity to Lex will only keep him in this state. He still feels light with the ride long over, and he needs to get away, needs to think this over from a few more angles before he can begin to deal with the way he's feeling, sweet aching pull that he can't figure as right or wrong.

"Homework? On a Saturday night?" Lex stops abruptly, forcing Clark to stop with him. In the partial shadows of the trailers, Clark isn't as worried that his 'condition' will be so obvious, hopes he's covering well enough. Sees the Lex in his mind jesturing to his crotch with his chin and a leer, and Clark's whole body blushes.

"Better now than tomorrow. You don't ever want to hear my mom in lecture mode about the importance of homework and good grades." Can't look at him beyond darting glances, knows that it makes him look every bit the liar that he is and, again, there's no way to make himself stop.

Lex gazes down at the straw-strewn mud, cocks his head as he looks back up at Clark. "Can't argue with that logic, can you? I'll take you home."

Clark considers refusing the ride, knows that to do so will be asking for the argument and nastiness of last night to come up again. He decides he can handle himself for the 15 minutes it will take them to get from here to the road that leads to the Kent farm and manages to say yes, and thanks, and follows Lex to the car.

The way the seats of the Testerossa envelop him does nothing to ease Clark's discomfort. Satiny, padded leather cocoons him like an embrace. He watches Lex pull on the leather driving gloves, feels the rumble of the engine as it's gunned and lets gravity press him back even further in the seat as Lex peels out of the lot.

There's not much in the way of conversation happening, despite Clark trying desperately to find a topic he can use to form a concise thought. He sighs internally when Lex reaches over and hits the radio, sounds of a Macy Gray CD filling the interior. Familiar song from two summers ago, Clark recognizes it and lets it soothe him. An uncomfortable conversation with Lex is the last thing he wants to torture himself with. His eyes are half closed, and it's not a helpful stance to take. Blocking out the sight of Lex does nothing to diminish his impact. Instead, there's more of his scent here in the enclosed space, heavy overtones of leather going straight to the root of Clark's problem, swelling showing no signs of diminishing. The sounds of Lex shifting gears, feet heavy on the clutch and gas.

They reach his house, and he notices that Lex has pulled right up in the driveway. Clark's eyes seek out the hulking silhouette of his dad's truck, but it's nowhere to be seen. His parents are still at the Fair. And he knows that's the only reason Lex didn't let him off at the road, and he gets a twinge knowing it.

"Clark, we're here." Both hands on the wheel and he's looking at Clark with no hint of a smile on his face. Not angry, not upset, just composed. Public Lex, and there's something to be found there, but Clark has no idea what it is.

"I know." Clark presses his hands against the hard length under his jacket, feels it push against his belly, hot and slick.

"Ok, you running away from home in your own drive way?" Lex gestures at the house with a lift of his chin.

Desperately says the first thing that comes to his mind. "No, I just, you know, like this song."

Lex's right hand moves towards the CD player, twists the dial up, up, 7, 8, stops at 9 and the music fills the car, vibrations going through him like electricity, not a help at all. He knows his knees are weak right now, Lex forces those feeling raging up just by being here, not doing a damn thing to encourage him that Clark can find.

The song ends, and there's a barely discernable beat before the next one comes on, full volume assault on every one of Clark's overwound and strung out senses. His head thuds with the words, makes him breathless and hot and the ache comes winding its way through him.

"Superlove is something that they say is very rare  
In the dark, In your world it's everywhere  
And I feel like an x x rated movie star  
It's the way you love me down  
It's the way you love me down"

And Lex is leaning over now, face coming in closer, hand reaching across Clark's body even as Clark turns to meet him. His mouth parts, and he can almost feel Lex's lips on his, can *taste* it in the heat of his anticipation. Eyes slipping closed, hands pressing harder against his belly, and Lex's face is so close now, right there...

The light comes on, making Clark blink, as Lex opens the door for him. "Homework."

"Huh?" Still half turned towards the body crossing him, dazed and well beyond rational thought, Clark can't even form the words.

"Superlove  
Gimme some, some, some.  
We are the genius of love  
Feel like an x x rated movie star  
It's the way you love me down  
It's the way you love me down"

But Lex is just leaning over him, hand on the door, almost trapping him in the seat, despite that fact that he's not touching him with anything other than his gaze. "Your excuse?"

Lex leans back into his own seat, lowers the radio as Clark jerks up, pushes the door open. "Right, I remember. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime."

Standing next to the car, working with the tiny amount of blood left in his brain with most of it flooding next to his skin or dwelling in his nether-regions, Clark leans back down, peers in and sees Lex watching him. Tries to think of something to say, wants to get back in the car and just tell Lex to drive somewhere, anywhere, turn the music up. Instead he stands there, hunched over, hard and needy and too unsure of everything in his world now to know what he should do. He just wants a sign, one gesture to show him what to do. He thinks maybe friends in Metropolis might act this way, wishes Lex would tell him that.

Lex ponders the steering wheel for a few seconds, and when he looks back his eyes are very dark in the harsh light of the car. "You don't need an excuse with me, Clark. 'I'm confused' will do."

A nod is all Clark can manage as he shuts the door, walks to the house and into the kitchen, key jumping in his shaking hands. Lex waits until the door shuts behind him before he peels out, and Clark leans against the frame, breathing hard, head pounding. When the sound of the car is just an echo in the room, he tugs frantically at his jeans, pops the button. Drags down the zipper and pushes pants and boxers to his thighs. Takes himself in his fist and is groaning out his release seconds later. Hits the floor on his knees and stays there until he stops shaking.

-end-


	3. Bonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things to do in Smallville when you're obsessed.

When he was in college, Lex used to go to Gotham for long weekends. Just got on the train and left Princeton behind for a while. Never when he had a paper or a test, he knew the rules, fail once and be bailed-out, fail twice and dig yourself out. Gotham was, still is, Lex's perfect city. The populace too jaded or blind to notice him, even with his obvious appearance and no attempt to hide his wealth. Weekends there were full of being just *another * spoiled rich brat, not THE spoiled rich brat, and it suited him well enough that he misses it sometimes. He's finally legal to drink this year; he thinks he should have more years of debauchery ahead of him instead of nothing but responsibility and drudgery. Live hard, learn fast.

Lex sits in his office staring out at concrete chimneys and carcinogenic smoke wafting out of them, wondering where his elongated youth is, where his delayed adulthood slipped. He doesn't remember a time when his idle thoughts were occupied by just getting laid or getting high. There were always the ghost thoughts behind the surface, libido-driven swirl: who to be seen with and who not to, where to leave his incriminating evidence so it didn't seem planted, if it would be different if he'd gone to day school instead of boarding, whether Lionel felt this hollow all the time too.

He ponders what Clark's background thoughts are. Imagines them relating to covering up his Big Secret. The secret, Lex thinks, he's figured out after the Ferris wheel and Clark's labored breathing when confined to the front-seat of his car. Ah yes, Smallville, a town where even in 2002, boy-love is terror-inducing. It's funny enough to Lex to almost be endearing, retro, like the organic produce and unlocked houses.

Innocence is Lex's new mental theme. He plays the majority of his ideas around it, trying to find the angle, and a good portion of the time there is one. The Fair sort of jostled him in an unexpected way. Instead of him tarnishing Clark, he feels slightly burnished. As though innocence can be reclaimed, and that's why Lex wants to know if he ever had any to begin with. Reaches back to the meteor shower, broken and bent fields of tasseled stalks waving or bowing, and he thinks that wasn't exactly his fall from grace. No, more of like his first understanding of being different. Lex likes to see it as being complex as opposed to other people's simplistic linearity. He'd like to, but more often than not he wishes he at least knew what being one-dimensional was like, for comparison, to have the misty, pink youth to look back on and pine for.

He draws back in on the present and flips through the weekly report on all things Smallville that was waiting for him when he arrived this morning. Compilation of water-cooler gossip, overheard conversations, nixed Ledger stories, a copy of the Torch, anything and everything that a heartland town with a massive streak of weird would whisper, or scream, about. Except the part about how Clark knows things he shouldn't, can probably bench-press an elephant, and apparently has no family history. Lex shuffles through the papers: twelve toed cat, a multi-headed chicken near the Douglas country line, Veronica Baker having an affair with Crystal McKenzie, he lingers on that one until he spots something even better. Another bonfire party. Referred to as ' the monthly high school bonfire'. Interesting. Pictures Clark's face lit with flame taking on a Dionysian cast, too good a fantasy to not pencil the party into his planner. Why the hell not, he's already committed to this youth-reclamation, might as well go for the full package.

*****

Clark felt so out of sorts the past week that when the idea of going to the Friday night bonfire was floated past him at lunch, he just nodded. He didn't mention meteor rocks in lakes or terminally cold football players, just drifted with the current and hoped that getting out would clear his head. Desperately wished that some normal, average, teenaged activities would break him out of his Lex fixation. Like school hadn't, like chores hadn't, like trying to jack off to fantasies of Anna Kournikova hadn't.

Pete picks him up at seven. Chloe's already in the passenger side, and he has to sit sideways with his back against the door of the bask seat to get enough legroom to keep his leg cramp-free. Pete's "311" CD blaring, and Chloe screaming over it about supposed sightings of a four-headed chicken near the county line.

They park in the mud amidst the rest of the cars and trucks and head toward the noise. The usual threesome falls away into a single in such a rush that Clark finds himself momentarily stunned. Within five minutes of coming into the clearing, Pete spies Carrie Weathers and hones in on her like a bee to an exotic flower, and Chloe, his steadfast companion in the wasteland of geekdom, wanders off with a jock chatting her up in whatever passes for romance among the pigskin set. It's humiliatingly apparent that Clark is on his own. He looks around at all the kids, coupled up or cliqued up, and feels a strong urge to fade into the background. Steps back into the shadows cast by the bonfire and spies Lana.

Whitney's got his jacket around her shoulders and his mouth sealed over her lips. Her face, what Clark can see of it, is dreamily soft between the kisses, and he feels his stomach knot and roll. Tells himself to look away, that only serious masochists stand around playing Peeping Tom in full view of most of the under-20 set. With a huge effort he looks elsewhere when Whitney leans in for the face action again. What really sets him off kilter isn't that Lana's making out with her boyfriend, that it's Lana or that it's public, but that no matter how hard he tries, he just can't imagine being Whitney, being in Whitney's place. He can't picture what it would be like to be so close to Lana now, even his memories of Tina as Lana melt away when he really *tries * to remember being there, doing that. And when he imagines kissing a girl, holding her, smelling her hair and touching her skin, he can't cast the roll anymore, just gets an amorphous blob of a head where Lana's face used to be.

Clark wonders idly where the keg is and if he wants to spend the cash to get in on it. Knows he'll take one sip and then wander around with the cup in his hand all night and spill it out before they leave, but at least it's something to do, a prop to keep his hands busy and out of his jacket pockets for a change. Sometimes, when he's this smothered with doubts, he wishes he were like everyone else, hell, he wishes that every second of every day. But this is different, he wishes he could cover his discomfort with the blanket of alcohol, numb himself and not be so sharp on the edges, so HERE. He's actually counting the crumpled bills in his jeans with his fingertips, all of them ones, when he hears Lex's voice.

"Hi, Clark. Enjoying yourself without alcohol or inappropriate, public sex?"

Turns to look and sees Lex in slacks and the same leather jacket he wore to the Fair, looking out of place as usual and still seeming to fit in better than Clark himself does. Something about the way Lex carries himself, an attitude that forces the rest of the world to see what he's putting out for them. Acceptance of his freakiness and a dare for anyone to call him on it.

Clark notes that his initial reaction to Lex's appearance is a somewhat alarming degree of happiness. He damps it down and says, "I think it's appropriate here, Lex."

Easy shrug and that constant half-smile on his lips. "I stand corrected." He turns to the side, surveying the bonfire, the groping masses of kids, half of them too drunk to think about what they're doing and the rest not that drunk and not really giving a damn anyway. His eyebrow arches when he turns back. "When do we burn the Christians?"

"Keep it down, that girl over there is the Preacher's daughter." Clark gestures with his chin towards Missy Campbell, and Lex peers in that direction.

"The one in the red bra and jeans?" Said in a matter of fact way, no hint of humor, just flat speech.

"Yeah, that one." Bites the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking into a smile, enjoys Lex's dry humor too much to spoil the mood by giggling like a girl, although he feels a fluttering that makes him think he might anyway.

Absent nod. "Ok, I'll keep the blasphemy to myself. Where's Lana?"

All need to repress pleasure gone at that name, and again Clark gestures with a jerk of his chin. Lex leans to the side and watches Lana and Whitney long enough for Clark to count to twenty and catch himself staring at the way Lex's neck looks, bare against all that black leather he wears.

Lex straightens up, rotates his shoulders with an oddly graceful motion while he clears his throat and slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Right. Why don't you ask out someone else?'

Pointedly looking around the expanse of the gathering, Clark waits a minute before replying. Then he mimics Lex's posture. "Like who?"

"How about Chloe? She's smart and cute, even if her hair makes her look like the Flying Nun." Lex doesn't bother to point or even look towards the blonde jock who's entertaining Chloe with what are doubtless tales of his prowess on the field.

Clark snorts. "Chloe's my friend, Lex."

"Like me?"

He gives Lex a quizzical look, tilted head and lifted brow. "Uh, more like a girl who is a friend."

"So like me but with breasts and a Sarah McLachlan CD collection."

"You're assuming a lot here, Lex. Chloe hates Sarah McLachlan." Grins when he says it, not sure he's really comfortable with Lex heading towards a conversation that attempts to define their relationship. It would mean making decisions, drawing conclusions, and that's not what he came out here for tonight.

Lex isn't letting it drop. "Is that all I'm assuming?'

Clark runs his hands through his hair, scrubs at the scalp and then looks up at the sky. Cold clear night but the stars are dimmed by the yellow light of the fire. Speaks without thinking. "I should have gone in on the keg."

"How much is it? Three dollars? I have you covered." Lex pulls a money-clip out of his pocket, and Clark flushes.

"I..."

Lex's smile is slightly larger somehow as he pockets the cash smoothly. "I know, Clark. You don't drink, ever. Except cider."

In Lex's up-turned lips, Clark thinks he can read his half-truths. That he does drink sometimes, but it doesn't affect him, that it's useless, a liquid placebo, and he feels suddenly caught-out and petty. He attempts to pull the conversation away from anything that might lead to exposure of secrets, no matter how unimportant. "This has to be boring for you, how did you even know about it?" Not sure he likes the way that sounds now that it's out, but it's too late to rephrase it, and Lex doesn't seem to think anything of it.

"The whole town knows." Idle gesture as if this bunch of kids is the whole of Smallville.

Clark puts a hand on the back of his neck, looks down at the scuffed toes of his sneakers and over to the shiny tips of the shoes Lex wears. Drags his eyes away and back up to Lex's face. "I guess they weren't very quiet with the details."

Lex's glance returns to the spot where Lana and Whitney had been kissing, and he puts his hand up, points less than subtly. Clark turns, three quarter profile to Lex. He sees Lana, alone on the blanket, arms around her knees. The soft look is gone from her face. Instead, she looks slightly dazed, her expression moving from sad to annoyed and back again. Like she can't decide which to go with. A further turn and Clark spies Whitney with a cluster of his team mates, red plastic cups in their hands and their voices ranging up louder than the music.

He swears he feels Lex's breath on his ear when he says, "Go talk to her, Clark."

Forces himself to turn back around, Lex far into his personal space in a way that would normally make Clark take an obvious compensating step to the side before speaking. No move to get away though, he just pivots around and tries to hide the need for a little breathing room. The proximity to Lex has already short-circuited his brain, no reason to push him away now. What comes out of his mouth is just pure reaction.

"I don't want to talk to her, Lex. I want to talk to you."

Two beats as he takes in the fact that he said it out loud, that Lex heard him and then Clark is moving, stomping actually, as he heads into the cover of the woods and away from the light of the bonfire. Wants to hide his face in the shadows again and wishes he had let Lex buy him the cup of beer. Then at least he could claim alcohol had taken over, tell himself that as convincingly as possible. He hopes that Lex left. He hopes that Chloe and Pete don't wander around looking for him for hours. He wishes he could remember where the hell the path out of here was so he could go home.

He isn't surprised when he turns to see Lex coming towards him, expensive shoes crushing the undergrowth as he makes his way over to Clark. His expression is as unreadable in the gloom of the trees as it ever is. But the moonlight mostly obscured by the foliage gives him a sheen, an otherworldly glow that makes him appear to belong here.

They both stop at the same instant, and Lex's breath comes in short bursts in the hush of the close stand of trees. "What's going on, Clark?"

//I wish I knew// he thinks and tries bluffing his way out of it. "What do you mean?"

Lex isn't having any of it, no big surprise there. He never lets anything go, and he's the one who got this whole line of thought going tonight anyway. No reason that Clark can see for Lex to ease off, especially now that the cover of the woods removes any chance of using the rest of the kids as his excuse.

"Why did you run away like that? And don't answer my question with a question this time."

"I wanted to leave." Thinks of the night of the Fair, Lex's face in the car, the huge need to get back in and let Lex take him anywhere, the thrumming desire that he had smashed down and walked away from. The way he's trying to walk away again right now, because that same sharp need is back, spike in his belly that's making him want things he thinks he can't have.

Lex stares. "You're acting weirder than normal. I thought you came to party, or what passes for it here." Takes a step closer as he talks and Clark sees the way Lex's gaze slides over him, eyes-mouth-chest-mouth, gray-blue and restless.

"Lex, can we not talk about this?" His throat constricts and his stomach lurches, rolls. He's close to panicking, and nothing's happening here //yet//.

He takes a step back, and Lex's hand shoots out, grabs the sleeve of Clark's jacket to still him. "What do you want to talk about then?"

"I don't want to talk at all." Circuits clicking faster than he can process them and it's just out there again, mouth open and moving before he can edit himself. No time to founder in embarrassment because Lex isn't giving it to him. Answer snapped right back at the tail end of his sentence.

"You want me to leave you alone?" Lex doesn't sound angry. He hardly sounds any different than he ever does, voice modulated and calm. Clark wishes he'd give him something, an emotion to react to, something to gauge what he own response should be. Lex is too unreadable, and Clark suddenly knows what the adjective 'slick' applied to a person really means.

"No..." Stops himself and amends his statement. "I don't know. Not really." Glares at Lex and wills him to see what he's trying not to have to say, wants him to just do *something,* anything, take control of the conversation again and put Clark out of his misery.

That's not happening, and for once Lex relaxes his body language, his shoulders fall and he dips his head. "Clark, you have to tell me what conversation we're having. You lost me back at the fire."

Clark considers that, but he can't believe it. All the same, he takes a deep breath to steady himself before he speaks. "You know, I don't think that's true."

Lex's hand on his jacket snags tight again, tugs at the material. "You think I know what's on your mind?"

Clark bites down on a swell of anger and frustration that makes him want to scream, turn to the tree beside him and lift it, toss it as hard as he can towards the fields, expel the tension that's terrifying him in the same way he feels when someone's in danger. Reality distilled to this moment and the need to act. "Lex, why do you do this? You've lived every idea that's ever even popped into my head, why don't you just be straight with me?"

"Tell me what the idea is that I'm supposed to know here, Clark." Almost whisper, and Clark figures he should be getting this, seeing something in Lex's face that's supposed to go unspoken, but he has nothing to compare this to, no template, and he's just confused.

Clark looks down at the pale hand that's now wrapped around his wrist, leans in closer, inhales. That familiar sharp scent of Lex's cologne over the wood smoke and leather, and he opens his mouth to breath it in all the better.

Lex doesn't move. "Are you telling me now?"

Clark swallows the taste and breathes out. "Don't make me..."

Fingers clenching in a spasm around his wrist, and Lex speaks very clearly, each word precise and over pronounced. "You have to say it. I can't...Just. Tell. Me. What. You. Want."

And for all his need, all the heaviness between his legs and the way Lex fills every sense, Clark can't make himself say the words. Trips back in his embarrassment --"I can't. I'm sorry, this is stupid" -- and comes up short when Lex pulls, jerks him back towards him.

"I won't take advantage of you, if you want something, take it for yourself." Lex's lips shine, wet, as the tip of his tongue slips out and back into his mouth. Clark shudders and something breaks inside. Lex is just stringing him along, or he might not even understand what Clark wants after all. All the friendship talk, and maybe he's just trying to be that, a concerned friend, but it's too much for Clark. Anger floods in from his own embarrassment, from Lex's refusal to read his mind and take the impetus off him.

"Why did you come tonight? To see a bunch of hicks get drunk in the woods? Because that seems really stupid when you could just drive to Metropolis for the night." Resistance again to him stepping away, Lex's hand still there and holding tighter now. He doesn't want to move the conversation this way. Doesn't want words, just some unknown fulfillment he somehow knows Lex can give him.

"Not everything that interests me is in Metropolis." Words dark and heavy, and Clark suddenly feels hundreds of miles away from the laughter of his schoolmates, out of Kansas, out of himself. Just he and Lex in some different place that he doesn't understand but needs to come to know. Needs it, needs Lex to lead him to it and make everything clear, to call him on the things that are running through him head, making his body vibrate with what he feels and Lex is... refusing to do it. Playing word games again, brushing against the edges and then flitting away and waiting for Clark to catch up, leading him deeper into something he's never come close to knowing before.

Panic again, and Clark wants to bolt. Heartbeat thudding along in his ears, he says, "I need to go. Really. I'll see you later." Turns and tugs hard enough to pull his arm from Lex's grip, forces himself to walk and not run //fly// because Lex follows on his heels

Lex's fingers on the back of his jacket, snatching at him. Clark turns, stops so abruptly that Lex nearly ploughs into him. They stand there, facing off and saying nothing while the line of tension inside Clark winds itself tight enough to snap. He hones in on the pale face in front of him, watches that scarred mouth open to say something, doubtless something clever and just this side of cutting, and the wire breaks. Clark moves fast enough to act without thinking. Lips pressed to lips, Lex caught in mid-word, and Clark gets more than he expected, the tip of a tongue against his teeth and a moan sucked into his lungs. His hands grab cool, stiff leather and crush it in his fists as his mind rolls over on this.

Kissing. Lex.

Jerks himself back like he's been slapped and feels his cheeks flame. "I'm sorry, god, Lex, please don't be mad..." Drops his hands from the jacket he knows has to be ruined and steps away, back coming up hard against a tree.

++

Lex doesn't have better than average night vision, just mortally weak human eyes that lose color perception in the moonlight, but he can make out by contrast the flush on Clark, slivery white outlining mourning dove gray. Just slightly cruel to leave Clark wondering if he's a pervert or about to be banished from the inner circle, but Lex likes pine-scented Clark by moonlight, and this might be his only go at it. It's less than a ten-second gap since the kiss, and Clark averts his head, shutters in a sigh and is about to run crying into the clichéd night when Lex flicks a stray curl of hair out of his eyes. Chin lift, but still facing to the side, Clark meets Lex's eyes out of the corner of his own, tries to smile.

"I'd never be mad because you touched me, Clark." That same amused, ghost-grin on his face, slips up to Clark, presses as much of his body against Clark's torso as he can, and just glides. He's breaking his rules, but he's rewritten them time and again now. Hip to hip as slim, elegant fingers thread in Clark's hair, and Lex swallows down the frightened sigh vibrating from Clark's throat. Clark slouching against the tree, Lex straining, almost going to the balls of his feet to meet the height difference, and this is a first for both now. Lex always favored boys to men, slight frames and brittle beauty. His psyche wouldn't let him be this out-sized, overwhelmed, disadvantaged. But this is something else, he still feels in charge, Clark folding up to force himself to Lex's height, skimming of lips and tentative touches, asking instead of taking, and Lex knows he'll never be anything but in charge of this. Winds his fingers in the inky tendrils of Clarks hair, and saves this second in his mind for perfect recall; Clark's mouth on his neck, fingers pushing red memories of themselves into his scalp, the texture of cool, slick smoke on his fingers, pulse of bass off in the distance, Dial soap, pine sap and carbonizing wood on the air.

**

Clark feels Lex just responding to him, turning his head when Clark's kisses move from mouth to cheek, twisting fingers in his hair and holding without guidance, the tension floods out of him. And he's drowning in the scent and taste of this moment, warm lips and slick tongue licking his bottom lip and tickling his palette in a long stroke before Clark cups his hand around the cool, silky, bare skin and holds him still. Holds him there so he can let his tongue do the same to Lex, other arm under that leather jacket, tugging at Lex's shirt and not caring that it's shredding under his fingers, not caring about anything but the inescapable way Lex's mouth tastes of salt and mint. Falling to the fact that Lex is hard all over, no give, just planes and lines. The odd awareness that the prodding against his thigh is Lex's hard-on, Lex's body responding to him.

Like being shocked with static electricity over and over, buzzing along his nerve endings everywhere, fine hairs all over his body standing up, because he's not alone with these feelings for once. Lex echoes his frightening longing, at least enough to be hard and willing. Lex wants him, and this is what was on offer all that time; this was what Clark didn't know he needed until he reached out and took it. He moans against Lex's mouth and is rewarded with a bucking thrust and a bite to his lower lip that nearly ruins the anticipation by forcing Clark to the end. Spreads his hand over Lex's back and holds him tighter. All of that skin free to touch. Clark lets his hand drift lower, catch on the slim belt in its neat loops and tugs sharply, hears the leather snap like a rubber band under the pressure. This time it's Lex who's moaning.

"Clark," and he's not sure if that means to go on or to stop. He stops, panting, and waits, body tense and aching. Feels that bump and roll again when Lex moves against him and then inhales, sharp and loud. The back of his head hits the tree when the slim hand snakes its way between their bodies, and Lex touches him. Over denim and cotton, but that's not really important, because no one besides him has touched there since he was old enough to bathe. He swears he can feel the whirls of Lex's fingerprints when he cups and strokes. Press of the heel of a palm against the head, and it's too much. Clark shudders, pushing against the smooth palm when Lex squeezes just that little bit more, comes while he clutches Lex to him.

Whiteout that falls away like confetti reveals that he's still here, Lex is still touching him through what are now uncomfortably damp jeans and boxers sticky with wetness that spreads over his belly and thighs. Clark feels Lex's mouth on his neck, open-mouthed kisses that border on bites, and he realizes that the hard length is still nestled against the dip in his hipbone. Groans and bucks when Lex's fingers close around him again, denim-covered caress that makes him even more aware that Lex is waiting.

Hasn't come, needing something. Vague flash in Clark's head of him on his knees, Lex's expensive pants around his ankles and his back scraping against this tree while Clark does... *that* with his mouth. Desire and panic swell in equal amounts and he turns his head away from Lex, looks back towards the place where the bonfire is still going on. He hasn't thought this far, hadn't thought at all, and now he's scared, unsure, embarrassed by his lack of experience.

//still waiting, he's still waiting// and Clark reaches a tentative hand towards the ruined waistband of Lex's slacks. Freezes when he hears the sounds from the gathering spike to a volume loud enough to reach through whatever haze is holding him. Fingertips just brushing the bare skin of Lex's stomach, flesh heated and waiting for more. The music blares again, something too bass-heavy for him to identify, and Lex lifts his head.

"Clark? Are you OK?" Not pale and ethereal any longer despite the moonlight, Lex's face is a palette of color, flushed cheeks and bruised lips and eyes too dark to read under heavy lids. Even his voice is something black, smooth and coiling, a man's voice, and Clark freezes.

The fringes of panic knit themselves together with the sound of drunken football players whooping, girls shrieking. Clark puts his hands on Lex's shoulders and moves him, too hard, he knows it, but the tremors are threatening to take over, and he just can't. Can't do this, not here, not this way. No explanation other than a hurried and too familiar "I'm sorry," and he's gone.

**

Lex sways for a split second in the displaced air Clark's fleeing kicked up around him. He snatches at his pants before they hit the leaves and snarled tree roots. He's not surprised, just annoyed with himself to be in this position at all. So fast, and there was no plan, no secondary plan, no escape route, just standing in the woods almost with his dick in his hand while Clark runs home to wash himself with brillo pads and cry into his pillow.

He gathers his pants and tries to will away his erection //charity auctions, baseball, Jonathan Kent// but instead, he sees Clark in the tub pre-Brillo. He zips up his coat and holds his pants up as nonchalantly as he can muster. The car isn't far, and he doubts there're any Ledger reporters at this shindig, so he might be able to get away without having to concoct a story about a bear attack.

//This is what comes from attempting to molest a 15-year-old boy. Very impressive, Lex. This is losing control. When was the last time you were the one left wanting?// Stalks his way back towards the noise and light, heads along the fringes with his hands clasping the material of his slacks through the lining of his jacket, still hard enough to make walking this fast an issue.

"Lex. Lex! Earth to Lex, where's Clark? Have you seen him?" Brings himself up short and turns to see Chloe approaching him, the curled ends of her hair bouncing as she strides over. Not the Ledger, the Torch. She halts in front of him and folds her arms. "Well?"

"Yes, I saw Clark a few minutes ago. He had to leave suddenly and said not to worry about him getting home." Lex knows it's a cosmic joke that it would be *this* one who caught him skulking out of here. Only a nuisance-in-training, but with too sharp an eye for a night like this, when he doesn't feel like keeping the composure. Luckily, it's so ingrained he doesn't have to try, no effort, just standing still.

She narrows her eyes at him, but that could be an errant puff of wood smoke from the still blazing bonfire as the wind shifts. He watches as it ruffles her hair, makes it into feathery wings trying to beat their way free of her. "OK, thanks, I'll save the bitchery for him. So you're off now, nothing left to keep you at the party?"

//Clever girl// Lex just inches up the corners of his mouth into a non-frown. "Goodnight, Chloe."

Turns and makes his way to his car. He slides into the seat, slams the door, and waits until she's gone before he adjusts pants and hard-on, despite the tinted windows. Rests his head against the back of the seat and breathes out a few times, feels the swelling begin to ease up. Forgoes the gloves this time in his desire to be anyplace but here, just starts the car and gets the hell out of there.

end


End file.
